Through the Bleachers
by Diary
Summary: There's all this fiction about these sudden epiphanies where everything comes into startling clarity, often somewhat painfully, a realization that can't be ignored, but Lauren had never really believed in them. Complete.


Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

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Screw cliché, Lauren thinks, sourly, as she takes another long-sip of hot, watery beer.

"Why," she inquires, trying not to slur her words, "do you like Rachel Berry so much? What's so special about her?"

Taking a drink, Jacob Ben Israel answers, "Well, for one thing, she's hot. For another, she's a loser like me, meaning I could conceivably have a chance. But more than that, she's going places. Gotta respect that."

"Just don't trash-talk my boyfriend," she warns, tiredly. "The whole club thinks we're never going to last, and-" Shaking her head, she takes another swig.

"Of course, they don't," Jacob says, in his reasonable tone of voice. "The Asian couple is the longest lasting, so far. Even Schuester's relationship with his own wife didn't work. Or Miss Pillsbury's with her husband. And," he says, holding his hands up, "Puckerman and Fabray had a baby together. If marriage vows and human infants aren't enough to keep couples together, why would they have faith in any other relationship?"

"He thinks I'm hot."

Jacob doesn't respond in such a way that it's obvious he does have a response.

"Out with it, JB."

"And that's suddenly your criterion? I think you're hot, that wrestler from Texas thought you were hot, that other wrestler, who you injured for life, thought you were hot. You think you're hot. At the risk of sharing his fate, since when did a guy thinking you're hot mean you stay in a relationship that makes you sit under a bleacher getting drunk with me of all people?"

"Oh, screw you," she mutters. The kicker is that she realizes she wouldn't be so spitting angry if he hadn't touched a nerve.

Jacob Ben Israel once tried to hit on her, and she tossed him into a dumpster. A week later, she saved him from hockey players who wanted to do the same thing, because she had been reading his blog and realized he could potentially make a good ally.

Since then, they've mostly been honest with one another. Despite the rumors flying around school, Lauren isn't actually prone to physically assaulting any boy who does something to tick her off. She just isn't go to let anyone pull a 'bad touch' on her without demonstrating how spectacularly bad of an idea that is. Still, sometimes, Jacob is too diplomatic in his words when it comes to her, and she's not sure whether she hates the implication he buys into the rumors or the fact that she deserves some sort of emotional protection more.

Lauren isn't as stoical as she'd like others to believe, but she firmly believes in never crossing a line that can't be uncrossed. If she calls Jacob a perverted freakazoid with bizarre hair and too dorky to ever be chic glasses, she isn't going to fly off the wall when he insults her quirks and looks. As far as she's concerned, they have insult-privileges towards one another.

Sighing, realizing he isn't going to answer, she says, "I like getting drunk with you. I mean, if I'm going to drown my sorrows, it's nice to have you around to do it with."

"I'm a little freaked out," Jacob says, cautiously. "Um, you're not going to start crying, are you? Or you don't secretly have a brain tumor or cancer or something?"

"Shut up, JB," she orders, gruffly. "I'm more than a tough girl, you know."

Oh, gag me, she thinks. That line is straight out of some Twilightesque teen melodrama. Sure, Lauren likes the books and loves the movies, but standards, she has them. In real life, if someone like Edward came around, she'd grab the nearest stick-like object and plunge it straight through the heart.

And she's just going to ignore the time she took over the Twilight fan-club and had them attack Jacob.

He deserved it, hacking her YouTube account and filling it with pro-Jacob videos sung to the most annoying music known to humanity. That had been a bad touch to her soul.

"And I'm more than perverted slimeball," Jacob says, opening another beer. "What's your point?"

"I'm starting to wonder why I like having you around when I'm drowning my sorrows," she mutters.

"I've been wondering that since you said it."

"There are people who think that he should date Rachel Berry instead of me."

There's more silence.

"Okay, here's the deal: I'm too drunk to even properly move my arms. So, would you just stop with the silent shtick and say what you have to say?"

"If it were anyone but Noah Puckerman, this wouldn't bother me. Yeah, I've seen you weepy and hurt before. But he isn't worth any of this. He never has been, and he never will be," Jacob says, quietly.

"Berry is?"

"Have you ever seen me get emotional over her? Conceivably, I have a chance. In reality, though, I'm just this kid she might have some vague memory of when she's asked about the obstacles in her live. 'Well, there was this one boy with a blog who tried to blackmail me into giving him my panties. We never paid much attention to him.'"

Lauren remembers he once commented on her lipstick. It'd been an icy blue shade, and well, she was a freshman, then. To her, it was exotic. She'd thought she'd wear it, a cute outfit her grandma had made, put her hair in a French braid, and everyone would see the pretty girl she saw whenever she looked in the mirror.

Needless to say, life really was a rip-off. You lived, you died, and you cried and cursed in between the two.

But he'd sat down at lunch and asked if she was cosplaying, chattering on about how he personally thought some comic book character should have blue lipstick instead of black or white. He'd showed her a picture of some skinny blonde with bright blue eyes and told her that the character was some sort of villain and she gave the best Shut up, Hannibal lectures ever.

That had been before they'd really teamed up, and it had turned out Jacob wasn't even a fan of the comic. He'd read about a local convention that was taking place a few towns away and done an online quiz to see which character she was most like. Though, after reading about the character, he did legitimately think she was awesome.

"Okay, first of all," she says, "I didn't injure him for life. He's better, now."

"Is there a second of all?"

"Do you ever get emotional over anyone? The only time you've ever drowned your sorrows that I know of, it was when that virus destroyed your fanfic of that singer character hooking up with-"

"I worked on that for three months! It was going to get me over twenty reviews, I know it was," he exclaims, shaking his head vigorously.

If Jacob had been obsessive about backing things up before then, that had only made it ten times worse. Not to mention the actual, honest-to-God tears he'd shed while trying to down his beer. She'd stolen his computer and tried this expensive recovery program that hadn't worked.

"Oh, no," she mutters.

"What," he asks, looking over.

There's all this fiction about these sudden epiphanies where everything comes into startling clarity, often somewhat painfully, a realization that can't be ignored, but Lauren had never really believed in them. No one saw the pretty girl, very few people would, and yeah, life was a threat to emotional stability, see above, but she was too busy trying to find her place to feel sorry for herself for having a sucky one. You don't like it, try to change it, and if you can't, learn to live a happy life while dealing with it is more-or-less her personal motto.

Puck hasn't even met her parents. She wouldn't go across town on a rainy day to help him babysit his little sister if he legit paid her, but she once paid five hundred dollars of her own hard-earned money to buy a useless recovery program in the hopes of making Jacob happy. Sure, she'd had all these plans of how he'd pay her back, relishing the thought of him being in her debt, but-

"I don't think me and Puck are going to last, either."

"So, what road are you going to take?"

"The one where I tell him it's been fun, but I have more important things to focus on," she answers, finishing her beer.

"Do you think you could get it on camera? Maybe with audio? My stats will-"

"Shut up, JB."

"I feel compelled to warn you that if you do this, I resume a full attack on him. You try to protect him, and I'll-" He doesn't finish, probably correcting realizing there's not much he can do. "I'll terminate our alliance," he says, after a moment. "I can respect you protecting your boyfriend, but I can't respect you protecting Noah Puckerman with no legit reason."

Naturally, she's going to warn Puck to be on guard for Jacob, but otherwise, she can respect that.

"Hey, JB," she says. "Once we're sober enough to enjoy it and I've broken up with Puckerman, do you want to buy me breakfast?"

"Sure," he answers, causally. "Breadstix?"

Right, epiphanies aren't a telepathic thing in real life.

Two options, then: Go on like normal, or take a chance she could seriously regret.

Looking up, she sees the bleacher seats, and they remind her of jail bars. She realizes if she were the type to worry about regrets, she'd be in a jail with no visible bars. Fat, ugly, c-word, gold-digger (yes, because of the two guys she's dated, both were obviously rolling in money; the wrestler was middle-class, like her, and Puck- yeah), all have been thrown, and ignoring the hurt, she kept going. Couldn't play like boys, couldn't wrestle, couldn't wear a pretty dress with cute makeup, and she'd either laugh or snarl at them all when she did.

There were always regrets to those major decisions, but when it came down to it, she's happy. She's strong enough she can live without Jacob's friendship if it turns out to be a stupid mistake.

"Sure," she says. "Wear a nice tie, not a bowtie, and I swear: if you kiss and tell, I will end you."

There's a heavy silence as he sits up and studies her.

"Don't play me, Zizes," he says, deadly quiet. "I've seen you flirt- and I don't judge you. But out of everyone in school, I actually trust you; so, don't play me. Okay?"

Sighing, she reaches over, taking his hand. "And you're going to keep seeing me flirt, and if you do start judging, it'll be a mistake on your part. But the thing is, you like my lipstick, and if I could get that fanfic of yours back, I would. Don't play me, JB, because I have no intention of playing you."

Nodding, he squeezes her hand. "You do realize my parents are going to have the stun gun out the next time you visit, right?"

She shrugs, leaning back and putting her shoulder against his. "And mine will have a Powerpoint showing exactly how airtight their alibi for me will be should you ever do something warranting your death."

Side-by-side they lay, looking up through the bleachers.


End file.
